Spin Cycle
by Katbin
Summary: The F!Lone Wanderer does her ghoul companion a favor.


As soon as we made it back to Megaton our first and only stop was the house. The Waste really makes you crave something familiar and this was it. There was the familiar and well-worn Oriental rug in the living room, the small stack of books on the coffee table, the gun cabinets on either side of the room. Even seeing Wadsworth was a comfort of some sort, the stuffy and overly proper Mister Handy model welcoming all three of us home as if we had just left that morning. Never mind that it had almost been three weeks since we had stayed here. To a robot time wasn't as finite as it was for us fleshy folks.

It hardly bothered me anymore, I'd been around so long, but I could see the changes time had set upon the Kid. She wasn't as carefree as she had been all those months ago when she'd stepped into the Ninth Circle with a bag full of caps. There was a certain wall around her that she'd put up as we traveled, a cool indifference. She'd gotten ridiculously good at hiding her soft heart but I could still see it resting under the stony surface. I knew that the horrors and injustices of the Waste weighed on her more than she would ever admit. She'd taken it onto her own shoulders to clean up every problem she stumbled upon, without violence if possible. The Kid was good, even without the ridiculous titles Three Dog gave her.

Seeing how much she wanted to help had thrown me in the beginning. After doing Azrukhal's dirty work for all of that time in Underworld it felt like a slap in the face to actually solve a problem without shooting anyone or throwing them over a banister. She was a damn beacon of hope and peace for the people braving the Waste, always had a shoulder to lean and cry on and an ear to listen with. Never mind what she needed. Changing gears like that, and so quickly, had taken me a while. Eventually, people thanking me didn't feel stupid. It felt kinda nice, actually. Think the Kid knew it, too by the way she'd always turn back to me and smile. Perfectly white and straight teeth, a product of Vault orthodontics at its best.

Following the Kid up the stairs I could also see where the Wastes had changed her appearance. When we had first met she was a scrawny little thing. I still didn't know how she had carried that rifle without falling over, but now it was just one of several firearms she had strapped to her petite body. A hunting rifle on her back, pistol at her hip, sawed off shotgun in the middle of her lower back. I also counted two hunting knives and three grenades hanging lazily from her belt. The Kid packed serious heat nowadays. She'd hardened into a true survivor of the Wastes.

Didn't wear that silly Vault jumpsuit anymore, either. She'd kept part of it, the giant 101, and tacked it onto the back of the combat armor Riley had given her. She was a fan of that look, turning down Power Armor in favor of the dark green getup. It suited her. The Kid still refused to wear a helmet, even after I'd warned her of the dangers, citing that people needed to see her face to be able to recognize her and ask for help. Yeah, they'd no doubt memorized those long chestnut strands of hair held back in a messy and hastily done braid, the blazing blue eyes.

"Goodnight, Charon."

She turned to me like she always did at the top of the stairs and I could see her entire face: strong cheekbones, meticulously groomed eyebrows, full pink lips, and slightly crooked nose. That had really messed her up for a few days when she had broken her nose after a fistfight with Talon Company mercs. I'd never seen someone so upset about a nose. Now she wore it like a badge of honor. Hardly ever talked about it anymore. All of this was covered in a fine film of Wasteland dust and dirt. That, too, had changed about her. She used to stop constantly to try and bathe but somewhere down the line she must have realized she was fighting a losing battle.

"Night, Kid."

Behind me, Dogmeat whined. I moved to the side to allow him by, the mutt was way too attached to the Kid. She didn't seem to mind, though. She passed through the metal door to the left and smiled at me as she closed herself and the dog in for the night. I continued straight into the guest room that she had given me, _my room_ , not a guest room.Again, the Kid was too good for a place like the Wastes.

I barely had time to shuck off my gear and dirt permeated clothes before falling face first, wearing only boxers, onto the mattress. Megaton was quiet tonight, no drunks roaming the perimeter of the wall howling and shouting, no late night worship at the Church of Atom. I fell asleep in seconds. Sure, ghouls didn't need to sleep as much as the smoothskins did but it had been a long time since I'd had a good nap. I was grateful that the Kid had insisted on finding sheets and a few pillows to complete the bed situation and disappeared into the land of the slightly dead.

Sometime during the night I swore that I heard someone open my door. My sleep-addled brain supplied the idea of Dogmeat slipping in on his normal sniffing rounds, not even recalling that he was in the Kid's room. I turned over with a grunt and fell right back asleep. People knew better than breaking into this place, I wasn't worried about any intruders.

Morning broke like it always did in the tin siding house we called home, a sweltering heat and a nice layer of sweat on your skin. The Kid would sweat, not me. One of the few advantages of ghoulification. I rolled over and checked to see if anything was sore or kinked from the traveling but found everything to be in good shape. The only way I'd feel better is if I'd stumble upon a giant barrel of irradiated waste. Tended to ignore those, though. Last thing I needed was to go feral because of too much radiation.

I groaned as I sat up, some part of me still not ready to start the day, and reached to the floor where I had discarded my pants. My fingers touched the bare metal floor. Puzzled, still half awake, I swished my hand around the area in hopes of finally finding them. Nope. Came back empty yet again. Now I was wide-awake, curious. Had I thrown them further than I remembered? I looked all about the room and a small tendril of fear whispered in my stomach when I realized my clothes _and_ my gear was missing.

Not caring if the Kid would see me in my boxers, I catapulted myself to the door and wrenched it open. "Kid?" No response. "Ruth?"

Her door was open and the room was empty. Something was wrong. There was some extra gear I could put on for the moment that the Kid had stashed in the right gun cabinet. It wasn't ideal, not my normal attire, but I needed to figure out what the hell happened last night. I took the stairs two at a time and crossed the small living room to stop directly in front of the cabinet. I was just zipping up a pair of olive green fatigues when the door opened and closed behind me.

"Oh!" The Kid's soft voice was immediately recognizable. "Morning. Didn't think you'd be awake this early."

I spun around to see her carrying several cloth bags, Dogmeat wagging his tail at her side. "Where the hell are my things?"

In a few steps she was by my side, politely ignoring my uncovered chest, and wiggled one of the bags to hand over. The weight of it was familiar. It was my shotgun. Confused, I pulled open the drawstrings of the bag to take out the firearm. It had been cleaned. Properly. The metal was actually shining in the dim lighting of the living room, all traces of wear and tear erased by what I knew were careful and calculated movements. I checked the parts that had previously been on the edge of giving out to find they had all been replaced or repaired to optimal condition. For a moment I thought I wasn't holding my gun anymore, I half convinced myself that the Kid had gone out and bought a new one.

Silently, she handed me another cloth sack. This one had the smaller parts of my gear inside of it: the grenades, the knives, and the small weapon repair kit. I also found several new boxes of ammunition hanging out at the bottom. The next bag she offered held my armor and boots, the leather shined and cleaned, zippers shining and buttons gleaming. What was going on?

"Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd do something useful. Here, I promise this is the last one. You can stop looking like a deer in the headlights."

The final bag was the smallest and the lightest. I had to gently place the other bags on the floor next to the cabinet to open it. Folded and laundered, my pants and shirt stared back up at me. I could smell the floral soap that had been used to wash the threadbare fabric. When I pulled them out, allowing the bag to fall unceremoniously to the floor, they were soft against my fingers. The Kid had even patched the hole in the right shoulder and the tear on the right knee. I quickly shrugged into the shirt, a slight shiver traveling up my spine as the clean and smooth cotton touched my skin.

The Kid smiled at my expression. "Nice to have clean stuff every now and again, right?"

For a beat I didn't know what to say. "Where did you get enough water to do laundry? Did you break into Moira's to fix all this?"

"Charon!" She crossed her arms over her own freshly laundered shirt and feigned hurt. "A Lady never reveals her secrets."

With that she turned to climb back up the stairs, bidding Wadsworth good morning, still carrying several bags of what I assumed to be her own gear. I felt a strange fondness for the Kid, then. I'd never had someone that held my contract do something for me because they wanted to. This little Vaultie had done more for me than my last employer ever had, and had done so in the small timeframe of just under a year. I knew she wouldn't want me to pay her back, she'd say something like me protecting her was enough, that was who she was. Yeah, she definitely deserved a place better than this.

Before she disappeared into her room I called out to her. "Thanks, Ruth."

I could hear the grin in her voice. "Yeah, yeah. You're buying me lunch."

A fair enough trade, I guessed.


End file.
